Treblinka

Dawn.
Rifles crack.
The Kamp Kommandos stir
down in their windowless world
beside the execution wall.
Screams and moans
their minds no longer hear.
The final pistol shot.

Their work death’s work. Tearing corpses from the pile placing them on iron biers; cassettes into fiery slot whose song was not worth listening to, these husks of men women and children hate made insignificant.

Cruelty. Deception. Their life’s luggage still stood beside the empty train where those who never got this far keep watch with death’s eyes.

Tank engine exhaust. No mistaking that in the last desperate moments love drew broken families together, to die. We cannot comprehend how death felt for them.

Seeing and hearing all, the Kamp Kommandos shiver below the execution wall grimly clinging to poor flames of life before their turn comes on the fire.